


Remember To Live

by humble_beginnings



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Emotional, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4982263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humble_beginnings/pseuds/humble_beginnings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after Cora’s death, Tom is struggling with grief and trying to find his way forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a request a while ago to write a follow up to Broken Little Heart where Tom isn’t coping with Cora’s death. So here it is!
> 
> This is pure feels and emotion.
> 
> TRIGGERS: Death, slow death, heart failure, grief.

The familiar feel of his favourite suit left Tom wanting and disappointed. For months everyone important in his life had told him if he presented better his mood would improve, as though the blue suit, striped button down shirt and his razor had some sort of magical healing powers. Now, knowing that they were indeed just a finely organised weaving of fibres and a blade quite capable of leaving him bleeding, he desired nothing more than a good long run and another day in bed with a book. 

Not today. 

He had an appointment today with someone he would never let down, someone he would push his sadness aside for, at least for a few hours. The only person in his life who hadn’t told him to ‘just get back on the horse’ or ‘just give it more time’.

For some time, not that time meant much to him at this point - his days were measured in miles run, pages read and meals forgotten - he had been aware of the delicate balance of his own sanity. It was as though a mining operation was underway beneath his feet, and if he stayed still any longer he would be swallowed up. The small part of his mind previously responsible for fear and warning him of danger was now the very same that would have welcomed the finality of it, the neurons firing out thoughts of surrender at every opportunity.

Tom needed to move, figuratively, physically and geographically move. He barely recalled making the calls to arrange his new life, he almost wondered if his mind was now divided into separate entities and one wasn’t communicating with the other. In any case, today he knew there was an informal interview over coffee, where he would almost certainly be offered a job. And on the weekend, a new home. Out of London, away from the bustle and the memories. His London was not the same home it once was - he recalled longing for it like a lost love, like a child who is unable to sleep without their blanky. Now it held painful memories, far too many. Two familiar flats, a hospital, a cemetery, a drama school, all of the places he had visited in a past life which now poked at an all too painful heartache that never seemed to leave him.

* * *

Arriving at the Donmar it dawned on him that he would still feel that painful reminder every day if he took this position. But then, were he to rule out every place that held the smallest trigger he might as well apply for unemployment and be done with it.

Tom smoothed his jacket as he entered, the suit he used to love now felt stiff and irritating against his skin, and the weight he had lost made it hang on him rather than fitting like it should. Looking around, he heard a familiar voice.

“Tom?”

He cleared his throat, pushed his shoulders back and ran a hand through his blond hair.

“Johanna. It’s so good to see you.”

“You, too. I was so sorry to hear about Cora.”

“Thanks, Jo.”

“Would you like to go somewhere and chat over coffee?”

“As long as it’s somewhere private.”

“Of course.”

When they were seated she looked over his face while he stared out the window back to the theatre. He was visibly thinner, smaller than she had ever seen him. She wondered if it was part of his desire to disappear and go unnoticed. Even the confidence he had always carried himself with seemed to have left him. The gorgeous blue suit was wearing him, rather than Tom wearing the suit the way he used to, and it was clearly at least a size too big. His eyes were slightly sunken, the whites almost a light shade of grey. He was clean shaven but the irritation on his skin told her it was the first time in months. Johanna sighed, he almost looked like a part of him was missing.

“I was a little surprised when you called, Tom,” she said, breaking the silence.

“I’ve been stagnant for too long, it was time for action.”

“You know I will always find a job for you in a heartbeat, you’re one of the hardest working and most talented acto- uh, people, I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. You’re also absurdly overqualified for anything I can give you.”

“I’m happy with whatever you have, Jo. I need something to occupy me.”

“Well, I’d think you’d be fantastic as a director, but I can’t just give that to you. You’ll have to prove yourself and work up to it.”

“I can do that. You won’t regret it.”

“Tom, I’m afraid that you might.”

“I won’t. An actor needs emotion, needs to be able to feel it to show it. And I don’t. I can’t, won’t, who the hell knows.”

Johanna wasn’t convinced, but she wasn’t going to turn him away, either.

“Ok,” she sighed. “I must warn you, you’re going to feel like my personal assistant some of the time.”

“That’s OK. Can you not make a big deal of this, don’t mention it to anyone? I’m not asking you to keep it a secret, just… don’t go announcing it on Twitter or anything. I’m not ready to face the world yet.”

“Tom,” she said gently, laying a hand over his. “Do you really think if you wait long enough people will just forget about you? Because I don’t think that will ever happen.”

“I have all the time in the world to find out,”

“All right, I give in. You can start on Monday, be here at eight.”

“Done. I’m moving house on the weekend, but the tube will get me here easily.”

“Are you coping ok?”

“Yeah,” he said without missing a beat.

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

“No,” he said, forcing a smile. “Probably not. I’m here, I’m getting back to work, I’m moving to a bigger house. Everything’s fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tom went home and changed into jeans and a hoodie, finishing off the last few boxes before he made his way out of town. Arriving at the familiar grey fence he parked the car and walked through, passing a groundskeeper on the way. The older man gave him a knowing nod, Tom almost always arrived just before they closed the gates, knowing his long legs could clear them easily to get out and he wouldn’t be disturbed. 

The asphalt path was bordered on either side with green shrubbery, the smooth grass beyond dotted with colourful flowers, windmills and assorted ornaments in between the regimental lines of granite headstones. He walked the familiar path, fairly certain he could find the spot now with his eyes closed. He listened to loose stones crunch under his sneakers, the occasional bird calling to the setting sun, the passing cars oblivious to the sadness within the fenced green resting place. Even when full of people, there was always a hushed silence over the area, as though the phrase ‘loud enough to wake the dead’ were actually true, and even more so in close proximity.

He soon found the particular patch of green, standing out to him like a beacon even though it looked no different to any other. The headstone was light grey with brilliant flecks of white, new and unweathered such that he could almost imagine it was temporary; a prop in a film, a marker for a place not yet needed. He sat cross legged on the cool damp grass, not caring that his jeans would be damp, or that his legs would inevitably lose feeling. He reached his long fingers out to the granite and traced around the inscription. The large lettering, which at her insistence must be ‘unfussy’, of her beautiful name - Cora Mae Williams. His heart grew heavy as he remembered their discussions of their wedding day, knowing she would have been buried Mrs Cora Hiddleston, if only she’d been willing.

**_Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.  
_ **

Tom had read the epitaph so many times it should have lost all meaning. The number of breaths Cora had taken in her short life (1981-2015, 33 years the inscription reminded him, as if he would ever forget), was far too few, and the amount of unrestricted breaths even less. In life she had taken Tom’s breath away for many reasons, and she continued to do so now, more often than he cared to admit.

“Oh my beautiful Cora,” he said in a low voice. “I’m trying, I really am. For you, I know you’d want me to.” 

This spot, on the cool spiky grass in the peaceful silence, had become Tom’s haven. His sanctuary where he found release, able to let down his defences for a few minutes without fear. “I miss you, my darling. Every minute of every day. My mind still tells our stories like a record on repeat, and I pray that it never stops.”

Their stories, the stories he had told her while she lay dying and he sat desperately praying for her to hold on for some sort of miracle, were almost complete works of fiction, but they played in his head as though they shared a lifetime. He had told her of events that existed only in their minds and unfulfilled potential: their relationship, working on the same productions, the proposal and wedding, the children he had taken great care in creating so that he could paint a vivid picture for her. Tom had loved Cora longer than he could remember, possibly before he knew she existed. Finally he had found the courage to take her on a date, only for her to break it off soon after. It would be years before she told him why: she had found out her heart failure was terminal and didn’t want to drag him down. He still, every day, wished she had told him the truth and given him the chance to love her.

Cora had insisted he move on when she was gone, find love again and shine like she knew he could. Tom’s heart shattered into smaller fragments at the thought. 

_There will never be another, love._

“I bought a new house,” he continued. “A proper house, with a garden and everything. Out of the way, plenty of privacy. It’s almost exactly the house we talked about, the one that would have been filled with love and the laughter of our children.” Tom stopped to wipe a tear from his cheek. “It even has the huge white kitchen you always wanted, and a toasty fireplace in the living room. It’s perfect.”

He paused while the same groundskeeper passed again, giving him the same nod as always.

“And I’m going to be working with Johanna at the Donmar. It’s not acting but it’s still in my area, maybe I still have a chance at getting into directing. Life goes on, right?”

_Only it doesn’t.  
_

_Yours doesn’t._

He couldn’t say those words out loud, voicing them felt akin to accepting their truth.

Tom sat until the numbness had spread from hip to toe, stretching his long legs out for a few minutes before he unfolded himself upward, laying a hand on the cold stone. “I love you, darling. I’ll see you soon.”

Walking back to the car in the near dark, Tom wiped his eyes and tried to clear his head, preparing himself to reemerge into civilisation outside of the cemetery.

* * *

A crew of removalists had arrived at eight, and Tom had closed up the last carton while they loaded his belongings into the truck. Just as they started on his bedroom the phone rang in his pocket.

“Hello Stephanie,” he said softly. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Tom. How are you?” Cora’s sister's voice came through the phone.

“Good, yeah. What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping we might meet for coffee, assuming you don’t want to come here. I have some things to give you.”

“Ah, I’m actually moving house today. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. The cafe down the street from us, is that OK?”

“That will be fine. I’ll see you at eleven.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tom’s naked body collapsed into bed and he pulled the covers tight around himself. 3am wasn’t an unusual time for him to go to bed, if he didn’t push himself to complete exhaustion he couldn’t fall asleep. Even so, as soon as he closed his eyes he still relived their last night together. So vivid was the memory that he could still hear the bubbly, raspy, cadence of Cora’s breathing filling his ears, and the deafening silence that had engulfed him when he woke and realised his beloved had exhaled for the last time in his arms.

Cora featured in his dreams regularly, adding to his insomnia. His subconscious rubbed salt into the wound by ensuring every dream ended in heartache all over again, only the cause changed.

_“I’m sorry, Tom. It’s just not going to happen.” Her words were as clear as though she had spoken them seconds ago. Cora stood in front of him, dressed in jeans, boots and a ruffled shirt, her auburn hair falling around her face._

_“I have to go,” he said after a few minutes._

_He could see she was wrestling with her emotions, she didn’t want him to go, and yet she was deliberately breaking his heart and wouldn’t tell him why. Using all the strength he had, Tom turned away and walked toward the door._

_“Wait,” she said quietly. “Let me explain.”_

_He sat down, taking her hands in his and watching her pale face contort with hurt._

_“I’m… my heart is failing, Tom. It’s terminal and the only thing that will help me is a transplant. It’s highly unlikely I’ll get one. I’ll more than likely die waiting. In the meantime I’m too sick and tired to do anything and I have to be so careful that I don’t get to have a life. I’m breaking up with you because we can’t have sex, we can’t have a life. You deserve better.”_

_Tom sat with his head in his hands, fingers tangling and combing through his hair over and over, rubbing his neck, unable to process what she had just said. Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, he squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye._

_“I don’t care about anything but having you. Spending every second I can with you.”_

_“No. I won’t let you.”_

_“Cora, please. I love you. I’ve loved you since before I met you, and pushing me away now isn’t going to make this easier for either of us.”_

_He watched the tears stream unhindered down her pale cheeks, and she shook her head slowly._

_“I won’t let you waste your time with me.”_

_“But it’s not a waste of time, Cora. I love you.”_

_Tom sat back down and pulled her into his arms, for a moment she resisted and then collapsed into him, sobbing into his chest. He leaned down and kissed her lips gently, and everything fell away…_

* * *

_Cora held tight to Tom’s hand as they wandered across the castle grounds to their honeymoon cottage. They had snuck quietly away from the wedding just as guests were beginning to leave, unable to keep their hands away from each other any longer._

_He slowly undressed her, leaving a trail of kisses along the scar that ran down her sternum. For a few moments he was silent with his ear to her chest, listening to her new heart beating away. They had their lives ahead of them, and she had finally been cleared to start a family, declared healthy enough to have children._

_Gazing tearfully into his eyes, Cora stroked Tom’s face. “You never gave up on me. No matter how many times I tried to push you away. And it was all worth it.”_

_Again Tom leaned in and kissed the lips of his bride, and everything fell away…_

* * *

 

_An elderly woman sat before him, watching children playing in the garden outside with a familiar sparkle in her bright blue eyes and an auburn tint to her silver hair. “We’ve been so blessed, Thomas.”_

_“Aren’t you glad I didn’t let you go?” He said in her ear._

_“You’re never going to shut up about that, are you?”_

_“Never, my darling.”_

_Pressing his lips to hers, he closed his eyes tight and tried desperately to hold on to the moment._

* * *

Tom was back in his bed, snuggled under the covers, tears welling in his eyes. Looking around in the darkness, he noticed a figure sitting on the bed next to him.

“Don’t cry, my wonderful man. No more tears. You promised me you’d try to move on and be happy.”

“I am trying, Cora. I am.”

“I will always be with you, Thomas. It’s time for you to live again.”

She leaned down, for the first time he noticed her pink satin pajamas and the hair falling around her face, her perfect porcelain skin. He reached out and touched her, she was warm and he could feel her soft skin beneath his fingertips. She pressed her lips against his, and he felt his breath hitch, waiting for his surroundings to disappear again…

* * *

Sun peeked through the curtains, assaulting Tom’s eyes with it’s harsh glare. He groaned and turned over, averting his eyes from the offending blaze and wrapping himself in the crumpled covers. The pillows on the floor and the untucked sheets were a sign of another restless night, his grumbling stomach and aching body reminding him that he spent too much time unpacking and not eaten enough the day before.

Closing his eyes, he was beginning to drift off when he remembered the dream and sat up. He held his hand in front of his face, sure he could still feel her skin under his fingertips, warm and smooth, the silky satin fabric of her pajamas, her soft hair between them. Tom brought his hand to his face, gently brushing his fingers over his lips. He could taste her, her kisses lingered on his mouth, tingling on the moist membrane.

_‘It’s time for you to live again.’_

The words seemed to loiter in the air, as though they were hung in the atmosphere until he was ready to absorb them.  Unable to doze off he forced himself out of bed and into a hot shower, dressing casually for his meeting with Stephanie.


	4. Chapter 4

Driving into Cora’s neighbourhood was no less painful than he had expected. Every street, every building, seemed to hold its own memory, like a bloodstain never quite removed, serving a hurtful reminder of unfulfilled potential. 

“Hello, Steph.” He said warmly, embracing her when she stood from a booth in a dark corner of the cafe.

“Hello, Tom. How are you?”

He shrugged, tired of lying but lacking the energy to tell the truth. “How are you?”

“Getting by. Up days, down days, you know how it is. Kyle has been amazing, I would never have got through it without him.”

Interrupted by a waitress, they both ordered coffee before Steph continued.

“You remember Cora left me very specific instructions about her funeral and her belongings.”

Tom’s lips curled in a very slight smile. “I do. A drawer full, if I remember correctly.”

“I’ve just finished getting through everything this last week. I’m sorry it took so long, but it wasn’t easy as I’m sure you can appreciate.”

Tom looked across the table at Steph, really getting a good look for the first time since he sat down. The truth was he found it difficult to look too closely, she and Cora were so similar people often had confused them for twins. He noticed she had grown out her short hair and it now hung past her shoulders a lot like Cora’s had, and there was a hint of sadness in her hazel eyes.

“Of course I understand.”

“There were a few things she left for you. I’ve boxed them up and they’re under the table. If I know…. knew… Cora, every item will have a very particular significance and I’m sure you’ll know immediately. I want you to remember, she wanted you to have them as a comfort, not to make you hurt with the memories. OK?”

Tom sighed into his coffee. “OK.”

“You’re really not coping, are you?” Steph reached out and put her hand gently over his, trying to catch his gaze. “You’ve lost weight, you look like you haven’t slept since-”

“I haven’t. I can’t. She took her last breath in my arms, Steph. Cora died in my arms while I slept.” His voice was low and frail, trembling with restrained emotion.

“Look, you might not be interested, but I’ve been seeing a really great grief counsellor.”

“No, thanks.”

“Are you really not going back to acting?”

“No. I can’t. And I don’t want to talk about it. I have a new job at the Donmar, more of a production job. And I’ve moved out of the city. I’m doing my best.”

“I have no doubt.” Steph sighed. They finished up in near silence, only interrupted by idle chatter about the weather. Soon Tom was hugging Steph goodbye and lugging an archive box back to the car.

Tom would never have guessed that such a plain, beige, hollow rectangular prism could cause him such offence. Day and night, the box would mock him: laughing at his inability to lift the lid, even for the slightest peek, taunting him to take a stab at what might be inside. For three weeks it stared at him from the lounge room with it’s square-handle mouth and slitted eyes before he moved it to the empty guest room and closed the door.

* * *

 

Another fortnight would pass before a day he had been dreading: Cora’s birthday. The day she would have turned 34. In his dreams, his ideal fantasy land where he would retreat from harsh reality, Cora would have been the mother of at least one of his children by now. Two or three, if they’d got their act together early enough. They would have celebrated with the richest chocolate cake he could find, the finest champagne, and any gift her heart desired.

_Her heart desired._

_If only desire had been enough to keep her heart beating._

_She wanted you to have them as a comfort._

He remembered Steph’s words. Perhaps today was the worst possible day to open the box. Perhaps it was the best.

His lips curled into a slight smile, knowing exactly what Cora would have said. _‘Just open the fucking thing, Hiddleston. It’s a box, not a shark tank.’_


	5. Chapter 5

A cup of tea released a swirl of steam into the cool air from the coffee table, and Tom sat cross legged on the floor with the offensive beige box by his side. He sighed and ran his hand over it, knowing that Cora had prepared its contents only for him. Easing the lid off, he placed it carefully on the table and was immediately greeted with a beautiful, familiar scent.

Cora’s scent.

A fruity, floral perfume with a hint of vanilla filled Tom’s nostrils. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the memories the sweet, tart, scent invoked to wash over him. Cora’s neck and chest always smelled so lovely, the perfume mixing to create a cocktail that was unique to her. A brief inspection revealed a ⅓ full bottle of perfume which he lifted carefully from its cardboard enclosure. Vera Wang Princess. Tom smiled. Fit for a princess.

He saw a stack of various papers, some plain lined and some coloured or decorative, appearing to contain handwriting and fastened with a blue satin ribbon tied in a bow on top. There was an item of clothing he recognised, and some pictures of Cora and Tom. What caught his attention though, was a small pale blue envelope with ‘Read Me’ on it, and he immediately recognised Cora’s handwriting.

An hour passed before he found the courage to gently lift the back of the envelope, trying hard not to tear the paper and separating the strip of glue with slow precision. He lifted out a page, decorated along the bottom with blue flowers and filled with Cora’s writing. Remembering how she had struggled with dexterity toward the end, Tom knew how much time and effort must have gone into this one short page to keep the writing so neat and evenly spaced. He folded it back over carefully, running his finger over the fold for a few long seconds before taking a deep breath and unfolding it to read.

 

> _My Darling Thomas,_
> 
> _Everything here holds a memory. Not mine, not yours. Ours. Shared memories. I wanted you to remember all the happy times we had, not just the ones we missed out on. You are not allowed to hold on to every item for dear life and get stuck, I did this to help you let go. Every special moment we shared is represented here, and they will be safe. This means you can make new memories, your own memories, knowing that ours are securely tucked away should you ever need them._
> 
> _I loved you, Tom. I loved you with everything I had, and I always will. What I want more than anything is for you to live. That’s all I ask.  
>  _
> 
> _Remember to live._
> 
> _With all my heart,_
> 
> _Cora xxx_

Tom smiled, reading over it twice and then again before he began to pull things out, leaving the stack of letters until last.

First was a black piece of clothing, perfectly folded and tied with a blue bow. He could see the printing on the front left, and he pushed a little of the fabric aside to find a dvd case in the middle. Even though the case was plain black, he knew exactly what was on it.

Cymbeline Crew - 2007 the small white print read. It was Cora’s shirt, the one she should have worn for the tour she had to pull out of. He knew she had never worn it, and he knew the DVD was a recording that the stage manager had made for her. His eyes welled with tears when he remembered the way he had reacted so angrily when she told him she wasn’t going, the disappointment in his heart still felt fresh.

He also found a copy of the script with her name written at the top, and he could see her notes all over the pages in coloured markers. As he flicked through he occasionally recognised a scribble that was his, and recalled the nights they had worked through it together and his teasing about her perfect writing in the rainbow of colours.

Next was a book, Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Tom had bought it for Cora during her last months when she was too tired to read and he had offered to read to her. Noticing a bookmark inside, he opened to that page and found Sonnet 18…

Tom threw his head back and laughed for the first time in weeks. He had refused to read it to her, telling her it was the one that everyone read and he preferred others. The truth was it was something he had always associated with her and it was simply too painful. He had planned on saving it for their wedding day, holding out hope until the last moment that they would have the chance.

“You never missed anything, did you my darling?” He said aloud to the empty house.

A large bottle caught Tom’s eye and he plucked it carefully from the middle of the box, it was Sangria. A tag was tied to it with the words ‘to help paint the picture of us in Barcelona xx’ and he recalled talking to her on the phone while she was in the hospital, telling her he was sitting on Barceloneta beach sipping Sangria. Smiling and shaking his head, he remembered how well she had known him, known instantly that he wouldn’t actually be drinking. His promise to take her there one day would never be forgotten.

There was the blue dress she had worn on their first date, the evening she had taken his breath away. The deep v-neck made it difficult for him to look at anything besides her, and more than once he had to tear his eyes from between her breasts. He rubbed his fingers over the soft fabric, the perfume in the box had permeated the weave and it smelled just like Cora. Another scent tugged at him, and he continued sifting until he found the source - a small bottle of oil scented with raspberry and chocolate, tied together with her raspberry flavoured lip gloss. He brought it to his nostrils, the scent filling them and mixing with the perfume, taking him back to that night when he kissed her for the first time. Telling her the story in hospital, he had reminded her that she tasted of raspberries and chocolate after their dessert.

A pale pink hoodie had been neatly folded in the bottom, and he maneuvered it out, holding it up in front of him. Tom was unable to fathom how something so small could have swamped her as it did, and he cuddled it into his chest knowing instantly why she had included it.

 

> _Tom had spent three days straight by her side, and the night before Cora had been feeling so good she ordered him to go home and sleep and not return until after breakfast. When he arrived he stopped dead in the doorway. Cora was sitting on the bed with her legs folded in front of her, reading a book. She was dressed in clothes, her hair fell soft and smooth over her shoulders, and her face had some colour. Tom couldn’t tell if the colour was natural or makeup, but she was positively glowing._

After the failure of the first transplant, Cora was given another VAD to help her heart while she waited for another. When Tom arrived that morning, saw her looking like the Cora he knew, he had hope. That day would be the last she would feel good until the end, and the hope that had excited them both and given her reason to keep fighting had lasted less than a day.

He was now down to smaller items, contained in another box. First there was a plush, anatomically correct heart he had given her after the first surgery.

 

> _“Can I get you anything?” He asked, stroking her palm gently._
> 
> _“A new heart would be nice,” Cora smiled, her voice weak and cheeks hollow._

She had laughed the next day when he came back with a very cute and cuddly replica heart, complete with valves. The sound of her happiness for a few minutes, knowing that she smiled every time she looked at it, made it worth the hunt he had been on to find it.

There were ticket stubs from Coriolanus, and Tom felt a stab at his heart. It was the last time he had worked, and he had promised her the next day that he’d go back to theatre when she was gone. “I never specified in what capacity,” he tried to justify to the tickets in his hand.

Frowning, he pulled out a small foam rugby ball, a ballet shoe and a small courtroom gavel. These were the first items that had confused him, and he turned the ball over in his hands a few times before seeing three letters written on one side: ‘JLH’. In the same hand, he found similar on the shoe: ‘CDH’, and the gavel: ‘EGH’. After a moment’s puzzling he realised they were initials, the final H for Hiddleston, and remembered the children he had invented for them. Evelyn Grace, the eldest, who grew up to be a lawyer. James Levi, played rugby for England. Little Charlotte Diana, prima ballerina in the National Ballet. He had no idea she was paying that much attention, much less would remember every detail he told her.

Almost at the bottom, he found a stethoscope with a tag attached: _Put it on your chest and listen. Hear that? Your heart is still whole, and it still beats. Don’t waste it. Remember to live._

Tears welled in Tom’s eyes as he pulled the final item from the box, a small jewellery case. Inside was a stainless steel pendant on a long leather strap, and he turned it over between his fingers before reading the note.

> _You once told me that my fingerprint would forever be on your palm. This is the only item you are allowed to remove permanently from the box. Take it with you when you need it and be reminded that a part of me is always there. A tiny piece of me has been sealed in this pendant - a strand of auburn hair - and my fingerprint is on the outside if you need a hand to hold._
> 
>  


	6. Chapter 6

Hours later, the very lid that Tom had struggled to remove was the one he didn’t want to replace. He had tied the leather cord around his neck and the pendant hung right in the middle of his chest. Cora’s scent now filled the room, and he found both sadness and comfort in it. With a heavy sigh he gently placed the lid back on the box and put it in the top of his wardrobe.

For the first few months he looked at it every day while getting dressed, as though she was encouraging him and applauding the effort. Some days he would peek inside, never really finding what he was looking for but feeling better for it nonetheless.

On the anniversary of Cora’s death Tom realised he hadn’t taken it down in over a month, and hadn’t visited her grave in more than a week. He felt a terror rising from the pit of his stomach, he had somehow forgotten her, she had escaped his notice for a few days, and he felt guilt at the idea of being ok and carrying on without her.

He took the box down and read her words again: 

> _Every special moment we shared is represented here, and they will be safe._

She had pre-empted him once again with alarming accuracy, knowing one day he wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t mourn her death or feel the heavy heartache of losing her… and his first reaction would be to hold on for fear of forgetting. Like the security of a mother’s warm lap, she had given him a safe base from which to explore. To live.

Cora’s memory box would always be opened on the anniversary, and on her birthday. Somehow, quietly and without notice, the frequency became only twice a year, the occasion less of a ceremony and more of a quick refreshing moment of fond remembrance. Tom even learned to quash the remorse and guilt when he didn’t spare it a glance for a few months. Every few months he and Stephanie would meet at Cora’s grave and plant new flowers before catching up over coffee. He was amazed at how quickly life could move, and how easily the world would leave you behind if you let it. 

The leather cord had remained on his person for almost two years, only moved from his neck to a pocket, ankle, or wrist when it needed to be out of sight. Late one evening, undressing by candlelight and soft music, he had slipped it into the case in his nightstand. Occasionally, when he was lost or uncertain, he would pull it out, sometimes wrapping it around his wrist or neck for comfort. The frequency had become a gauge of his general wellbeing.

* * *

Tom stood in the bathroom, wiping steam from the mirror with his hair dripping over his shoulders and a towel slung around his waist. He heard the squeak of the door handle and eyed it warily.

“Who’s there?”

No answer, but he watched the handle seem to turn itself back to the locked position and footsteps rushing away on the carpet. He crept to the door and flung it inward, poking his head outside.

“Weird,” he said to the empty bedroom before closing the door again.

Again, while rubbing the towel over his hair, he saw the door handle move from the extreme of his peripheral vision. This time he said nothing, but kept his eyes fixed on it and saw the door begin to move, taking the distance to it in one long, silent, stride and yanking it open.

The little girl on the other side squealed and collapsed to the floor with laughter, and Tom swooped her up into his arms.

“Got to be sneakier than that to beat me, miss Madison!” He said, tickling her side with his long fingers. “Livi, honey? I found an intruder!”

A tall woman with chocolate hair falling over her shoulders appeared in the doorway, shaking her head. She smiled warmly at him. “That’s your daughter, Thomas. I know you’ve been away a lot but I’d hope she hasn’t changed that much.”

“Oh,” he said cheekily, putting her down on her feet. “Do I have more of these… daughters?” 

“Yes you do. Two more, in fact.”

“Huh. How did that happen again?”

“I am not having that conversation in front of your three year old.”

Sensing an opportunity, Madison ran out of the room and could be heard giggling quietly down the hall.

“Maybe we could get in some more practice then?” He pushed her back on to the bed, letting himself fall almost on top. His lips found hers, kissing her softly. “God I missed you, darling,” he said, looking into her eyes.

He was aware of footsteps running toward them, and all too late realised what was coming.

“Stacks on!” Came the cry, only seconds before they were buried under three more bodies.

When the rest collapsed onto the bed, Tom stood and pulled on a pair of pants, returning his towel to the bathroom when he heard a small excited voice from the wardrobe.

“I found a present!” Bridget said, pointing to the top shelf. “It has my name on it!”

Tom eyed his wife. “Since when can she read her name?”

“Now, apparently. What’s up there?”

Tom shrugged and switched on the light, finally understanding what she was talking about.

“That says Cora sweetheart, and I’m sorry but it’s not yours.”

“Bridget Cora, daddy. That’s me!”

“Your daddy had someone very special named Cora, honey. That’s why it’s your middle name. The box belonged to her.”

“May I see?”

“No, I don’t think-”

“You know what,” Tom said, reaching up. “You can. Why not.”

He put it on the floor in the bedroom and they sat around it while he pulled items from it to show them. “Cora was very special to me, I loved her very much.” Tom explained. “We studied together, and then she got very sick and she was sick for a long time.”

“What was wrong?” Bridget asked.

“Her heart didn’t work properly and she needed a new one.”

“Did she get a new heart? Like the tin man?”

Livi stroked Bridget’s blonde hair. “No, sweetie. She didn’t.”

“Her heart couldn’t beat anymore, and the doctors did everything they could to help her, but one night her heart stopped working and she didn’t wake up again.”

He saw tears in Bridget’s eyes and smiled at her, his own trying to escape to his cheeks. “She died?”

“Yes, darling. She died. And she left this box full of things for me to remind me that I don’t need to be sad all of the time, because she’s watching over me. I think she’s watching over all of us.”

Livi reached over and squeezed Tom’s hand, smiling down at him. She checked her watch and stood up. “We should get ready, honey. Have you packed everything?”

Tom nodded. “Mum should be here in half an hour.”

“Can’t we come?” Rosa whined.

“Not this time, sweetheart. This is a very big deal for daddy, and it’s very formal.”

“Next time,” he said, taking her hand. “You can come as my date, OK? We’ll only be gone three days, and I know you love staying with Grandma.”

“Ok,” she sighed. The girls left the room and Tom replaced the box on its shelf, pulled on a shirt and zipped his suitcase. Livi put her arms around him and hugged into his back.

“I love you, Tom.”

“I love you, Liv. What are you doing?” She had pulled out her phone and stood in front of him with her arms outstretched. “Here, let me. Yours aren’t long enough.” He laughed and snapped the photo, returning the phone to her. “What was that for?”

“So you can remember your last day before you became ‘Oscar winning Director Tom Hiddleston’,” she laughed. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Just let me put my shoes on and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

In the wardrobe, he slipped his boots on and looked back up at the shelf, running his finger over the lettering. “Thank you, Cora.” He whispered. “I won’t say it out loud, but I’m so glad you sent this to me and reminded me to live my life.”

He stood for a moment in silence before running down the stairs to join his family.


End file.
